Special Immunity
by Mousitsa
Summary: Sam and Dean stumble onto a hunt in a small town involving a professor's genetic animal experiments which may have deadly consequences for the Winchester brothers. How would they react if either of them was fatally infected? angsty conclusion


My fanc fic is like a whole _Supernatural_ episode with a creature, brother angst, and "shocking" conclusion. I actually wrote this during the Thanksgiving break which was way before Croatoan and the secret, although it might look like some things are borrowed from there._ (I don't own any of the characters, that honor belongs to Eric Kripke! I only borrow them to play with on occasion!)_ Constructive criticism is always welcome! To be honest I'm a little embarrassed to share my strange fantasies, but I hope you find it interesting and entertaining. I would especially like to hear if the descriptions were adequate, if story flow was decent, and the type of emotions that were generated in the reader.

**" SPECIAL IMMUNITY "**

**PROLOGUE**

_An all-too-familiar scene by now. A somewhat remote, rural area with tall spruce trees spaced evenly throughout the nearby landscape. A small, abandoned, somewhat dilapidated house in the background complete with a rusted porch swing creaking in the gentle breeze. A low light can be seen through a broken window dancing through tattered curtains flapping in the breeze. The light of the full moon shines upon a figure coming out of the house. There is no doubt who this silhouette belongs to... it's Dean. Suddenly, a few flashes of distorted light interrupt the scene. Dean walks down the three steps off the porch, slowly and with great difficulty, unable to maintain his balance despite using the handrails for support, almost as if drunk. It's difficult to see his face, to get a clue as to what's happening from his expression. He reaches the bottom of the steps. Falls to his knees. Damn it… hard to tell what he's doing with more flashes of distorted light and more random images. He reaches towards the small of his back with his right hand and is now holding his gun. Its silver casing reflecting the glow of the moonlight as the gun is raised and pointed at... his right temple. The hand holding the gun is trembling and the index finger tenses as it gets ready to pull the trigger. _Then Sam jolts awake in a cold sweat trying to make as little noise as possible so as to not wake his brother sleeping in the lumpy motel bed a feet few over.

**CHAPTER 1:**

_Davis, California. Just outside of Sacramento._ Professor Ingrid Larsen looked through the microscope intently studying the collection of dividing cells. She was hoping that _this_ time she was able to merge the right balance of stem cells and DNA chains. As well as a few other special elements not normally found in the medical textbooks. If successful, her genetic research would propel her to the apex of the science community and make her rich beyond her desires. If unsuccessful, it would land her in prison for conducting unauthorized experiments. It was one thing to use a variety of animals to test her latest concoctions, but taking advantage of the homeless and mentally ill was another matter altogether. She pulled open the middle drawer of her desk, removing a rubber band with which to tie back her shoulder-length, light brown hair. A quick peek into the drawer revealed a few curious tattered books, with fraying edges and yellow pages. Ancient languages and symbols graced the covers, appearing to be rudimentary forms of Greek and Hebrew to the untrained eye. There were also several silver amulets of varying designs, unusual crosses, and small bags of herb-type mixtures. And hidden away towards the back of the drawer there was also a small glass vial containing a yellowish powder labeled with the number sixteen and a large capital S underneath.

Hearing a light knock on the lab door, the professor motioned in her assistant. Maryann, a first-year Liberal Arts major, had as much business working in a lab as William Hung had singing lead for Metallica. But she didn't mind working for minimum wage and she followed instructions well, her lack of any general science knowledge and insight served as a blessing in disguise. She appeared to be more anxious and shy than usual, lightly rubbing both hands together and her eyes looking nervously about. She quickly made her way into the lab, locking the door behind her.

"Um, Professor... ?"

"Yes, Maryann, what is it?" Professor Larsen barely looked up from the microscope.

Maryann continued her nervous twitching and after a few more "ums" she finally stated in a near-terrified whisper, "It's... gone!"

The professor froze and her blue eyes now widened in disbelief as she looked up, "What's gone?" she asked, in reality fearing the answer.

"X-3-9-B."

The professor jumped up from her chair, raced across the room, unlocked the door and ran into the adjoining lab. A typical lab with a dissection table in the middle and several cages stacked like building blocks along the far right wall, some small and some large, housing a variety of mice, squirrels, gophers, raccoons, and coyotes. There were even a few cats and dogs of varying breeds. And there on the dissection table, a cage large enough to house a medium-sized dog was labeled X39B. The sides were buckled outwards and its front door was now a collection of mangled, twisted metal. And it was most definitely empty. Professor Larsen stared at the empty cage, with a knot in her stomach and her face whiter than anyone would have thought possible. It didn't matter _how_ it got to be empty, only that it _was_. The professor closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again things would be all right; _that's all this is, this is just all a bad dream_. But the knot in her stomach told her it was indeed very real. _God help us all._

**CHAPTER 2**:

_Woodside, California, about a week later._ Ed Williams is a simple man, living a simple life. He never really had the chance to go to school and he certainly lived within his simple means. Didn't have much of a choice really. For him, about the only good thing that came out of 1971 was staying alive long enough to get out of Vietnam and learning to be a mechanic. He took that knowledge and opened up his mom & pop automotive store in this quaint little town. For thirty years he and his lovely Emily worked their store and raised their two children. His son was now off in Hollywood somewhere trying to be a singer, or an actor, or who knows what. The way that boy acted, Ed wondered if he wasn't adopted. At least his daughter lived nearby, still going to school with plans on being a doctor, but always calling and visiting her old man. Ed beamed with pride thinking about her and how much she reminded him of his wife. It had been a year now since he lost her to cancer, but the pain still felt very fresh. He missed his Emily so deeply.

He sat behind the counter reading the local paper, his growling stomach reminding him that it was almost time to close up and get some dinner. There among the headlines was another story about another strange animal attack. The third in less than a week and the authorities couldn't even pinpoint the animal responsible. Sad thing was that all three people had died. Strange thing was that they all died less than an hour of the attack. And before they died, they just went crazy as if they had taken an overdose of LSD. Attacking and lashing out at anything or anybody around them, hitting them, stabbing them, mutilating them, and finally killing them, before they themselves collapsed into a convulsing, painful ball on the floor. _What the hell is this world coming to?_

His reading was interrupted by the sound of a car engine and as he looked out towards the front windows of the store, he could see the sleek lines of a classic black '67 Impala pulling up. Within less than a minute two young men entered his store. The first was dressed in jeans and a weathered brown leather jacket, a bit oversized for his frame, and looking strangely a bit like James Dean. The second, slightly younger, taller and thinner, had a boyish charm about him complementing his ordinary brown hair and brown eyes.

Ed made eye contact with the first young man, " ' afternoon," he said nodding his head. "What can I do for you boys?"

"Hi. We're hoping you can help us with a thermostat and a radiator. She seems to be overheating."

"Nice car. Classic. Might be a bit tough finding parts for her in stock. Y' know, 'cause of her age. But I got some things coming in from Sacramento first thing in the morning.

I could still probably add yours to the list."

The taller one stepped forward flashing a kind smile. "We certainly would appreciate any help you can give us." _Hmpf, _thoughtEd_, polite yet straight forward._

"What brings you boys through these parts?"

"My brother and I are on a little road trip."

"Well, until we getcha that part, you won't be able to go too far. Luckily the town's small and you should be ok with short drives." They both smiled and nodded at Ed in agreement.

"Now it's not likely I have it, but let me check in the back for you boys. Never know what's still hiding back there after all these years." Ed disappeared through the wooden door into his stock room and the brothers wandered around the store, examining different items out of curiosity while they waited. They looked at the faded photos tacked to a bulletin board behind the counter. A younger looking Ed, a pretty woman and small children. A young man in uniform. A group of three guys with their arms around their shoulders. Several minutes had passed.

Suddenly there was a small crashing sound coming from the back room, like a bookshelf falling and losing its contents. Then a larger crash, followed by a man's screams. Without hesitation the brothers raced to the stock room, each drawing a gun from the small of their back, having been placed there entirely out of habit as they had exited their Impala. Ed was on the floor, his back propped slightly against the shelves. There were three huge gashes across his left cheek and blood trickled out each one; they looked like the claw marks of a bear. There were also scratches and bite marks on both hands, as though he had been trying to fight off something. The white tee shirt he wore under his blue flannel shirt was covered with a growing spot of crimson. Suddenly behind the bookcase, a moving shadow could be seen but only for a split second because it raced out of view. With a strange sounding growl the shadow progressed -- fast -- towards a small back window. The brothers pointed their guns, trying to follow the shadow, preparing to shoot. And in a split second, whatever it was, crashed through the window and simply … vanished. The brothers gently helped Ed to his feet and escorted him towards his seat behind the counter.

"Take it easy, we've got you… Sam, call 911." Sam was on the phone before Dean even finished the sentence.

"I'm gonna die…" Ed strained to say the words, barely believing them himself.

"I think you might be jumping the gun a bit there Mr. -- ?"

"Williams. Edward Williams. But call me Ed."

"Ok, there Ed. I'm Dean, this is Sam. And I don't think you need to worry about dying just yet. Did you get a chance to see what it was?"

"Sir, it probably looks and feels a lot worse than it is, but relax, a few bites and scratches won't kill you. The paramedics will be here soon."

"No! You don't understand!" Ed frantically held up the newspaper he was reading earlier, "I'm gonna be like the folks in the paper! See? Everybody's dead!" The brothers tossed each other questioning glances.

"There's some kind of monster loose," Ed continued waving the newspaper in the air. "And it makes people go all crazy. They get bit and then they get some kind of disease with no cure." Throwing the newspaper on the counter, he frantically ruffled through papers on the desk until he found a blank sheet; he tried several pens before finding one that worked.

"Sir?" Sam seemed puzzled at Ed's actions.

"I gotta write a note to my daughter, tell her how much I love her… before it's too late. Tell her to take care of her brother… gotta tell him how much I love him too and that one day

I know he'll make me real proud." Ed sniffled a couple of times as he started scribbling on the paper. Dean picked up the newspaper, glanced at it, then handed it to Sam.

"Ed, just relax there. It's gonna take more than a few bites and scratches to kill some--"

"You don't understand! These things aren't normal. My daughter works at the medical center and she's always tellin' me how they do all these strange genetic experiments. God knows what they're puttin' together in those labs." Then suddenly Ed doubled over and clutched at his abdomen, letting out a painful grunt. Sam walked behind the counter and placed his left hand on the man's right shoulder for reassurance. Ed grunted again, his face

contorted into a painful grimace as he held on tighter to his abdomen, feeling as though a heavyweight had just landed a knockout punch. Outside, the wail of the siren got louder as the ambulance approached.

"Hang on, sir. They're going to get you some help."

Within minutes of arriving, the paramedics were checking vitals and escorting Ed to the back of the ambulance. Sam was doing the best he could to describe what had happened. The back doors of the ambulance closed and the paramedics prepared to drive off. Unexpectedly, loud banging noises were heard coming from the back of the ambulance. The paramedics quickly exited the cab and ran towards the back to check on Ed. Within a few seconds agonizing screams were heard from both men and the Winchester brothers ran out to see what had happened. The back of the ambulance had quickly fallen silent and a chilling, gruesome scene was left behind. Blood was splattered throughout and the paramedics appeared to literally be ripped apart with gaping wounds all over. Ed was lying there too, a twisted look frozen on his face and his hands covered with blood. There was no doubt that all three men were now dead. And all Sam and Dean could do now was look at each, eyes wide in shock and disbelief at the carnage in front of them, wondering exactly what the hell had just happened. It was now evident they landed themselves into one of those jobs requiring their special skills and knowledge and it was time to start the research that would lead to some answers.

**CHAPTER 3:**

After checking into a nearby motel, they spend the next several hours visiting and chatting with a variety of the locals gathering bits of vital information from each account. As the night crept along Dean decided it was time to take a break and indulge in some of the simpler pleasures of life: beer and women. Sam was more interested in finding those answers but he tagged along anyways. They chose a friendly-looking bar and made themselves comfortable ordering a round, until Dean spotted a group of girls to work on.

Sam momentarily looked up from his laptop, surveying the scene once more. Not much had changed in the five minutes since he last gazed up. The group of college buddies were still in the right hand corner of the room, crowded into their booth, laughing raucously and working their way through a third pitcher of beer. Several couples were dispersed throughout the tables, totally oblivious to any happenings around them but rather focusing on holding hands or staring into each other's eyes. And Dean was still at the bar trying to score himself a phone number, or better yet... an instant date for the evening.

Wearing his standard attire of jeans, and a black tee underneath a maroon shirt, he was standing, leaning against the bar with his right elbow supporting most of his weight, and working hard at making small talk. A pretty blonde in her mid-20s, thin but not anorexic, sat on the stool in front of him, her left leg crossed over her right and her left hand playing flirtatiously with locks of long, wavy hair. She was dressed casually in jeans and a red, body-hugging, brand-name emblazoned t-shirt which amplified some of her best assets. Next to her sat a brunette with shoulder length hair, looking average in jeans, a white shirt and a jean jacket. And standing next to them seemed to be another friend taking part in this girl's night out, but appearing to belong more to some punk-rock rejects rather than this friendly group. And to no surprise, they all seemed hypnotized by Dean.

Sam's eyes darted around the room but eventually come back to Dean. Watching his brother turn on the charm to score some companionship for the evening was like watching a master artist at work. And it didn't hurt that he had inherited dad's rugged good looks. Comparing photos of dad at the same age was almost like looking at twins. And mom's blue eyes gave Dean the killer edge on these special "hunts", turning what should have been plain brown eyes into captivating green. But Sam wasn't jealous. He could tell from the photos that he favored his mom's soft, gentle features giving him a boyish charm that was equally deadly when he wanted to play the game. If and when that day would ever come again. It had been a year since Jessica died, but he still thought about her almost every day.

The only thing he was really jealous of was that Dean was lucky enough to feel their mother's gentle hug, to hear her voice reading a bedtime story, to have her lips kiss him gently on the forehead. Things that he would never experience, or at least remember, following her tragic death when he was still a baby. Sam remembered seeing his mother's spirit a year ago, being mesmerized by her beauty and longing to reach out and feel her gentle embrace. Then, through a brief sniffle, he forced himself to stop these thoughts, which were only bringing about feelings of sadness, guilt and regret.

Dean glanced over at him, and with a quick shake of his head summoned him to join in. Sam had learned to interpret all the glances, the nods, and all the other nonverbal signals that were like a secret language between them. Only years of being in each other's company day and night could train them to be so linked, almost as if mind reading. Sam rolled his eyes with subtlety and looked down at his computer screen, the phosphorescent light adding an eerie glow to his face. Dean also knew how to interpret this secret language and, having just been brushed off, he turned his attention back towards the blonde, flashing a killer smile and continuing the conversation without missing a beat.

Sam was having a hard time focusing on his laptop. Without lifting his head, his eyes looked up at the blonde, taking in her facial features. She was yet another girl that could easily pass for mom's younger sister. And at that moment he wondered if that was the reason Dean always seemed to gravitate towards the girls who looked like that. Come to think of it, Jessica could pass for mom's younger sister too. Funny at times how he and Dean were more alike than he could have ever imagined, or ever wanted to admit.

He quickly shook his head as if shaking off cobwebs and continued typing words into the search engine. The newspaper he took from Ed's Automotive was placed next to his laptop and circled in red ink was another small article on the front page about a local professor conducting some groundbreaking research in genetic engineering. W-O-L-V-E-S. click.

A-N-I-M-A-L A-T-T-A-C-K. click. B-A-N-S-H-E-E. click. V-I-R-U-S. click. W-E-R-E-W-O-

The sudden jingle of the Impala's keys in front of his face caught him off guard. Dean pulled out one of the rickety wooden chairs and straddled it.

"All right college boy, as much as I hate interrupting this boatload of fun you're having, let's call it a night."

"Oh so soon?" Sam replied sarcastically.

Dean flashed a smile of achievement accompanied with a flick of his eyebrows as he held up the torn-off corner of a sheet of paper containing some scribbled numbers. "Well I got what I came here for. What have _you_ got?" He tossed the car keys to Sam who caught them with lightning fast reflexes.

"So I guess I'm the designated driver… again?"

"No," Dean replied with a huge grin on his face, "you're the _only _driver. I'm going for a ride in Becky's Beamer… among other things!"

Sam scoffed and shook his head incredulously. Despite being four years older, Dean could act incredibly immature at times. Then Dean paused, with a serious look returning to his face. "Are you going to be all right?"

"What do you mean?"

"You sure it's OK if I leave you alone for a few hours?"

He glared at Dean. "Do I look like I need a babysitter?"

"No, it's just that... well, you know…"

"It's just _what, _Dean?"

Finally Dean starts to give up, "Oh, forget it."

"Fine!"

"Whatever, dude! Oh, and Sam... don't wait up."

As Dean walked back towards the girls, Sam started the process of shutting down the laptop. It was now 11:30 at night and he was tired. For two days he had barely slept. He should be able to fall asleep with ease, only he didn't want to. Because with sleep came dreams. Disturbing and scary. Like the recent dreams that he hasn't been able to tell Dean about.

The drive back to the motel took about five minutes, with each passing streetlight having an almost hypnotic effect. Once in the room, he started the evening routine of taking a quick shower, brushing his teeth, and then getting into bed. He turned on the TV, flicked through the channels, and eventually settled for some old reruns of the Twilight Zone. It appeared to be the episode of the bookworm who never has time to read but now that he is the only one left in the world after a war he can read all he wants. Except he breaks his glasses. Talk about irony! He turned off the light, leaving the TV on, and as his head hit the pillow the orange neon glow of the alarm clock read 12:30. It must be a Twilight Zone marathon because a second episode followed, a classic one. William Shatner on a plane imagining a creature out on the wing trying to bring the plane down. Sam chuckled to himself as he remembered Dean's absurd fear of flying; probably no more absurd than his own fear of clowns. His eyes were getting heavy. He felt so tired. But he could let himself fall asleep. He just could not stand the thought of _those_ dreams again. He felt his eyes start to close. No! must stay awake. Just wait for Dean... stay awake until Dean comes back. That's it, just ... stay awake ... until ... Dean ---

**CHAPTER 4:**

_An all-too-familiar scene by now. A somewhat remote, rural area with tall spruce trees spaced evenly throughout the nearby landscape. A small, abandoned, somewhat dilapidated house in the background complete with a rusted porch swing creaking in the gentle breeze. A low light can be seen through a broken window dancing through tattered curtains flapping in the breeze. The light of the full moon shines upon a figure coming out of the house. There is no doubt who this silhouette belongs to... it's Dean. Suddenly, a few flashes of distorted light interrupt the scene. Dean walks down the three steps off the porch, slowly and with great difficulty, unable to maintain his balance despite using the handrails for support, almost as if drunk. It's difficult to see his face, to get a clue as to what's happening from his expression. He reaches the bottom of the steps. Falls to his knees. Damn it… hard to tell what he's doing with more flashes of distorted light and more random images. He reaches towards the small of his back with his right hand and is now holding his gun. Its silver casing reflecting the glow of the moonlight as the gun is raised and pointed at... his right temple._

_Oh God! ... Dean! what are you doing? … why are you doing this? why am I having this nightmare about you? The hand holding the gun is trembling and the index finger tenses as it gets ready to pull the trigger. Oh God! Please… I can't lose my brother! Noooooo!_

"Sam! Sam!" Dean's voice echoed through the dark room illuminated only by the TV.

He felt Dean's hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake. He gasped as he propped himself up. His breathing was rapid and shallow. The lamp parked between the two twin beds was flicked on and its light was reflected off beads of sweat gathered on his face. It took time for Sam's teary eyes to adjust to the additional light. Dean was now sitting on the edge of the opposite bed facing him.

"Dude, what's going on? Are you all right?" Dean asked with great concern in his voice. "This is the third time in two days you're having nightmares."

The truth is that he's had this nightmare about six times now, only Dean doesn't know it. Sam just stared at his brother but said nothing, his big brown eyes wide with worry and fear, desperately fighting back tears. He just swallowed hard.

Dean was insistent, "C'mon Sam talk to me. I thought we've gotten past the whole keeping secrets thing."

"There's not much to say. It's a vision, but it's incomplete. I can't tell what's happening."

Dean was obviously getting upset at Sam's avoidance. "Then tell me what you've seen so far so that maybe we can both figure it out," he insisted, tossing a focused glare.

"Like I said, it's incomplete. There's nothing to tell right now." Sam was trying hard to avoid having this conversation.

Dean's upset gave way to a bit of frustration, "So, let me get this straight, you had an _incomplete _vision, where supposedly you didn't _see_ anything... yet, it's gotten you totally freaked out? _right_?"

Sam could not look him in the face anymore. He stared at the TV screen now playing some late night infomercial, but continued to remain quiet.

Finally, an exasperated Dean gave up, "All right, whatever. Let's just try and get some sleep." Then he added sternly in his typical authoritative tone, "But we're talkin' about this in the morning!"

And it was practically morning already according to the orange glow of the alarm clock that now read 4:20.

**CHAPTER 5:**

Annie's Diner had an inviting ambience with its pretty lace curtains and brocade-covered booths. The thing that drew Dean to this particular eatery was not his pickiness over dining locations but rather the All-You-Can-Eat sign hung in the window advertising the special deal as being valid for today only between 11:00 and 11:30 am. According to his watch, they beat the deadline by a full five minutes. After filling their plates with a variety of brunch items, they made themselves comfortable in a booth and Sam immediately flipped open his laptop. He glanced at Dean's plate which was heaping full.

"You know, 'All-You-Can-Eat' doesn't really mean you have to eat everything that's being offered."

"Hey, I'm getting my money's worth!" And with that he began to work his way through the large heap of food. "So, what have you found out about these attacks?"

Sam quickly typed on the keyboard and then turned the screen towards Dean. "I cross-referenced all the documented attacks so far and one name keeps popping up. Professor Ingrid Larsen."

"Wow, she's cute for a Professor. I bet none of _your_ professors looked like that."

Sam tried to ignore the comment, as well as Dean's one-track mind.

"Professor Larsen is well known in these parts for her work in the field of genetics. She's been working on a variety of projects through the years and her latest one involves genetically engineering cells for infusion such that you basically get a "super being", you know, increased strength, stamina, ability to fight off disease, things like that. The Army was very interested in that."

"Yeah, I _bet_ they were." Dean stated sarcastically, never being one to trust authority figures of any kind, especially anything having to do with the government.

"Anyways, I checked some more into it and along with the accolades she's received for her work, she's also been disciplined several times and even arrested once. I wasn't able to get all the details, but it appears she was conducting some type of unauthorized experiments. One report states that her lab assistant was interviewed, a Maryann Harris --- "

"She has an assistant named _Mary-Ann_?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well it's sorta funny, you know, the old TV show, Gilligan -- the–professor–and–MaryAnn…"

"Dude, seriously!" Dean brushed off Sam's annoyance and continued working on his plate. "The lab assistant was telling reporters that the professor did experiments on animals and that one week ago one of those experiments escaped. Literally ripped through a steel cage. That's exactly the same time when all these attacks began."

"Which means that if cute little Ingrid _was_ trying to create a super serum and was testing it on animals, her serum worked, making for one hellavu pissed off critter."

"Chimera."

"Kai – what?"

"Chimera. In Greek mythology it referred to an imaginary monster made of a variety of unmatched parts, originally a lion's head, a goat's body and a serpent's tail. But now it refers to something consisting of tissues from various genetic backgrounds thrown together into one pot. And maybe she decided to mix in a few extra elements as well, if you know what I mean."

"Well, thank you doctor Winchester! But it looks like we'll need to go talk to the professor. Only problem is that we can't make it that far without a new radiator."

"Then let's start with her house. She has a local address listed."

"OK, sounds good. But there's still one other thing we need to take care of."

"What?"

"We still have that little matter about last night to talk about."

"Dean, can we _please_ just drop it?" Sam begged.

"Nope!"

Sam was hoping that his brother had forgotten all about that matter by focusing on the hunt instead. But he could see the determined look in Dean's eyes; he wasn't going to drop the matter until he had gotten some answers. Sam tried to avoid saying anything for a few more minutes, but Dean just stared him down until he finally had no choice. Slowly and with great detail he relayed the reoccurring nightmare that has been plaguing him for the past few days. Then without warning, Dean burst out in a continuous chuckle, shaking his head. It wasn't exactly the type of reaction that Sam was expecting in this situation.

"Dude, it's not funny!"

"Aw, c'mon Sam! That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard."

"Is it Dean? Because maybe you forget? ... but my visions have always been right."

"Sam, stop worrying. You know me. There's no way I'm going to shoot myself in the head, ok? Besides, your visions haven't _always_ been right!"

"Oh yeah? Name one time they weren't."

"No, that's not the point. Your visions only show a _possibility_ of something happening. Just like some of your other visions, we were able to get there in time and change the outcome."

"Yeah, Dean... "_some_" ... we haven't been able to prevent _all _of them." And with that, Sam leaned his forehead into his palms in worry and sadness, his arms being supported at the elbows on the table. "I'm just... worried."

"Seriously Sam, it's not going to happen. I guarantee it. Now what we need to do this afternoon is hitch a ride into the city and look for those parts. The sooner we fix the car, the better."

Sam gazed up with a puzzled look. "What about the professor's house?"

"We'll check into it this evening."

**CHAPTER 6:**

"Sam, are you sure we're going the right way? There's nothing out here."

"Yeah, I'm sure. There's a road up ahead. Take a right." Sam continued to stare intently at the GPS on his cell phone. He hardly noticed when the Impala came to a stop in front of a small, abandoned, somewhat dilapidated house. The surrounding area was rural with tall spruce trees spaced evenly throughout the nearby landscape. He looked up to see the somewhat dilapidated house, complete with a rusted porch swing creaking in the gentle breeze. And at that instant he simply froze, a sensation of fear overcoming him as he recognized the all-too-familiar scene by now.

"Dean, we gotta go!" he demanded in a panic. "We gotta leave … now!"

"What's the matter with you?"

"This is the house from my vision!"

"Yeah, so?"

"What do you mean "so" ? I told you my vision, and this is the house. And we need to leave before any of it happens!"

Dean brushed off Sam's concern with a shake of his head. "What we need is for you to relax. Now let's go and see if the professor is hiding any skeletons in her closets." Dean chuckled at the irony of his statement as he opened the glove box and took out two flashlights, handing one to Sam. He also reached for his handgun, preparing to put it in the small of his back but Sam extended his hand, grabbing at the gun.

"No, leave it here. You can't take this with you."

"Are you nuts?! Who knows that we might find in there! You don't expect me to walk in there naked, do you?"

"But if you don't have your gun, then you can't -- "

"That's enough Sam! You're starting to sound like an overprotective grandma. C' mon."

Sam's uneasiness grew with each step towards the house. Something _was_ going to happen here, tonight. His visions have never been wrong. Why couldn't Dean see this... why was he so determined to tempt fate? Was the hunt the only thing he cared about? But maybe Sam _was_ worrying for no reason. He had to believe that his mind was imagining scenarios that were not likely to happen. He _did_ know his brother and he knew that his brother valued their lives more than anything. _It's not worth dying over._ Dean's words from the past echoed in Sam's imagination. Maybe Dean was right after all.

They continued towards the house, going up the three steps, past the creaking swing on the porch and into the house after picking the lock. They shone their flashlights in and nothing seemed unusual. They entered cautiously looking for the nearest light switch and flicked it on. A low light illuminated the front room, a sparsely decorated living room. The couch and end tables looked old but the whole room appeared to be somewhat lived in. There were no cobwebs hanging around or any unusual accumulations of dust. There was a small TV to one side with old-fashioned, rabbit-ears antennae sticking out the back. Standing against the wall was a narrow bookcase with hardly any books at all. The few books that were there were all medical and technical.

They moved to the left, past a small dining room area and into the adjacent kitchen. The cabinet design was plain and reminiscent of the 1940s but again there was nothing unusual. Nothing overtly grimy and no dirty dishes in the sink. Between the dining room and kitchen was a door apparently leading to a basement and also a small hallway leading back to a bedroom. Dean motioned Sam towards the basement while he started down the hallway.

Sam made his way carefully down the stairs, moving his flashlight side to side to get a view of as much as possible. He saw a switch and flicked on the light but the basement remained dimly lit. As he came all the way down the stairs and got a good look around, Sam's face froze with an expression of alarm. Cages of many different sizes lined the walls and to the right was what appeared to be a cell, the kind that usually housed humans rather than animals. Shackles were mounted to the walls near the rudimentary cot.

A stainless steel dissection table stood in the middle with a variety of surgical instruments at one end and a cabinet full of vials and glass bottles on the other. The shelves also contained a few tattered books about an inch thick, with fraying edges and yellow pages.

Ancient languages and symbols graced the covers, appearing to be rudimentary forms of Greek and Hebrew to the untrained eye. There were also several silver amulets of varying designs, unusual crosses, and small bags of herb-type mixtures. And there were also a few small glass vials containing a yellowish powder labeled with the number sixteen and a large capital S underneath. Sam recognized the code from the Periodic Table of Elements. Sulfur.

"Dean! Check this out!"

Now it all made sense. Professor Larsen was using this remote little house to conduct her unauthorized experiments and a lot more than just standard medical practices was involved. Sam's attention perked up at the sound of what could be described as a low growl but looking all around he was unable to see anything there. Perhaps it was his nerves and imagination playing tricks on him. He turned towards the stairs to go back up and, without any warning, a large brown creature moving at unbelievable speed jumped at him, the surprise throwing Sam backward onto the ground. He felt some pain but was unsure what it was, the adrenaline of the moment seemed to be masking it.

"Dean!" he called out instinctively and fumbled for his gun.

Upstairs Dean heard his name being called again and he quickly started towards the basement. He knew his brother's voice well enough to know that the second "dean" was not the typical _come-and-see-this_ summons but rather the _I-think-I'm-in-trouble_ summons. It was promptly followed by Sam yelling out, apparently in great pain. Dean rapidly went down the stairs to see Sam lying on the floor. "Sammy!"

"There's something down here!" Dean held his gun in his right hand prepared to shoot at anything that moved. He reached down with his left hand and hastily pulled Sam to a standing position, shoving him towards the stairs.

"C' mon, go, go, go!" he barked orders, pushing Sam up the stairs and keeping a sharp eye on the surroundings for any movement or sign of a creature or whatever else may have been hiding there. Once in the kitchen he quickly shut the door behind them and helped Sam into one of the chairs at the dining table. He pulled out a chair and sat facing his brother, looking at him intently, trying to ascertain the extent of his injuries.

"Sammy, are you all right?" But Sam didn't answer. He just sat quite and contemplative. Dean looked carefully at him and could now clearly see the three gashes across his left cheek, like the claw marks of a bear, with blood trickling down slowly. A strange coldness came across his body and a sensation of falling grabbed hold of his stomach. His eyes widened in disbelief while his brows furrowed. He tried to tell himself otherwise, but he recognized where he had seen the exact pattern of injuries: on Ed Williams.

"Son of a bitch! What happened?!"

"I don't know. It came out of nowhere and jumped at me. I didn't even see what it was."

"Let's go, we've got to get you to a doctor." Dean stood and started to pull at Sam's arm.

"Why, what's the point?"

"What? Dude, let's go!" Sam didn't budge.

"Dean, this was the same thing that attacked all those other people. And you saw what happened to them. Even if we make it to a hospital, nobody knows what this is."

Deep down in his mind Dean knew that his brother was right. Panic began to take over his every logical thought. There was no cure for this and in less than an hour Sam would be-- _No, no, no, no, no … can't think like this… there's gotta be a way!_

"Sam, look, we've got to do something! You're not just going to sit there and die!"

"I don't think I have a choice. But you do."

_What the hell is he talking about? What the hell choice do I have?_

"You need to leave… now… before..." Sam could not finish his sentence, but he didn't have to. He was already starting to feel different, realizing that some kind of change was taking place within him. He grimaced and let out a small grunt, grabbing his abdomen gently with both arms. Instinctively his overprotective big brother moved closer to him, going down on one knee to be eye level, and grabbing both shoulders with his hands. "Sammy! What is it?"

He could see the panic in Dean's face and at that moment he was reminded again how caring and protective his brother was and always had been throughout their lives. For the most part his brother usually called him Sam, but when he was scared or worried about something or wanted to be endearing he would almost always call him Sammy, like he was doing now. At first the sound of the childhood nickname really bothered him; in fact he absolutely hated it. But now it was calming and reassuring.

"Please ... you need to leave." Sam's voice pleaded, pushing Dean's arms away such that it forced him to stand.

"Forget it, I'm not leaving you here to die alone." Dean was determined.

"If you stay, you'll die too." Then Sam grabbed at his abdomen tighter and let out a guttural groan, his face contorting into a pained grimace. "Don't you see? It's already starting to happen!" He grimaced again as another spasm grabbed him, the pain almost unbearable now. "Dean, please go! I don't want to hurt you!"

Dean moved closer to him. Gently he put one arm around Sam's shoulders and the other around Sam's head pulling him in towards his chest. Sam could feel from the movement of Dean's chest against his face that his brother's breathing was rapid and shallow, panicked and scared. But, as usual, Dean remained determined to control his emotions, his face remaining stoic. And this was as close as Dean had ever gotten to a real hug in the past eleven years, which now meant that he was getting frantic as he recognized the futility of the situation. Sam felt another painful spasm and he groaned even louder than before. His brother just held him tighter, the same way he had held him when he was seven and had just witnessed their father kill some creature; as if that would make it all go away.

"… Sam… oh God… no… !" _That's a joke! __"God"? Why the hell am I even talkin' to God? He never listens, he's never cared. He wasn't there to save mom, or dad, or Jessica, or Pastor Jim, and where is he now that Sam needs him?_

"Dean, please, go… I'm begging you! I'm not going to be in control much longer! I don't want this to end knowing I hurt you!"

"... no ... ," his voice trembled and he tightened his hold.

Using all his strength, Sam pushed hard against Dean, forcing him to break his hold and take a couple of steps backwards. "Dammit! Why don't you just listen for once?!"

Dean was used to being in control of a situation all the time. But he had lost control of this one before it even started. He was never one to walk away from a hunt, but now he was starting to reflect that maybe he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Maybe he should have listened. Maybe he should have trusted Sam's vision. Then maybe he wouldn't be thinking that this will be the last time he would be seeing his little brother alive. His facial expression was a combination of fear, pain, despair and disbelief, yet he held his emotions in check, always keeping his game face on. He looked into Sam's eyes, wet from the tears streaming down his face.

"... Sammy... I ... "

"Yeah, me too ... " They didn't have to say the words. They knew.

And Sam also knew what he had to do before he lost all sense of control. He slowly reached into his right pocket where he had clumsily shoved his gun as Dean had pushed him up the basement stairs. He pulled it out and checked the number of rounds left. It had plenty but he only needed one. Dean took a few more steps backwards moving towards the front door of the house. Strangely, his facial expression transformed from fear into defeat. _It should've been me! I'm the one that's supposed to be dead anyways. Dad traded his life for mine and look what's come of it. It should've been me! _These thoughts rang in his head, repeating over and over.

And at that moment Sam made the heartbreaking connection between his vision and this unfolding situation. His brother would walk out the door and then kill himself. Despite his many protests in the diner, his anguish would lead him to committing a desperate act. And Sam had to make one last effort at preventing the inevitable.

"Dean... you can't let my vision come true." Dean remained silent, his lower lip moved in a subtle quiver, his eyes wet but not allowing any tears to fall. His breathing heavy and labored. "I need to know that you're going to be all right." _How the hell can I promise you that? How the hell can I live with myself once I walk out that door? How the hell am I going to be all right?_ "Say something, dammit!" But Sam recognized the defense mechanism. When Dean didn't want to open up his feelings, when he didn't want to agree with you, or when he had nothing nice to say, he simply preferred to say nothing at all. And the only way Sam would get through was to do what he always did as a kid to get his way. He tilted his head slightly to the side and opened his big brown eyes wide in a pleading puppy-dog look.

"It's the last favor I'm ever going to ask of you ... ok?" It was a dirty trick but it worked.

" ... ok ... " He never could deny the wishes of Sam's pleading, big, brown eyes.

Sam felt another attack of pain, the strongest one yet. He grabbed at his gut and doubled over falling to the floor. Dean's every instinct told him to run back inside to his little brother, to offer comfort and support. "GO!" But he stumbled out the front door, letting the spring mechanism close the door behind him. He lumbered across the porch towards the steps. He walked down the three steps off the porch, slowly and with great difficulty, unable to maintain his balance despite using the handrails for support, almost as if drunk. He reached the bottom of the stairs and took a few steps down the walkway, the moonlight offering an eerie glow to the surrounds.

**CHAPTER 7:**

They say that when you are about to die, your life will flash in front of your eyes. Well they're wrong… what you actually get are the highlights. Dean took a few more steps down the walkway and then stood there staring blankly out at nothing. His breathing continued unevenly, his lower lip quivering even more. The tears welling up in his eyes, and still refusing to fall, distorted the view as if he were opening his eyes underwater. Looking out into the darkness, the moonlight created a strange unicolor kaleidoscope effect through the gathering salty liquid. And then without warning the highlights began, scenes flashing randomly across his mind, a combination of slide show and disjointed movie. A five-year old carrying his baby brother away from a fire. A third-grader escorting his brother to his first day of kindergarten… who refused to let go of his hand making it necessary to stay with him and miss half a day of his own classes. Ages 10 and 14, listening to Pastor Jim's sermon all the while elbowing each other to stay awake. A six-year old Sammy climbing into his brother's bed, cowering beneath the covers and needing reassurance because he was afraid of the thunder and lightning. Ages 8 and 12, sneaking off to play a round of one-on-one soccer instead of focusing on target practice. A collage of images from so many times in the past year that the painful visions would strike Sam and the simple acts of reassurance being all he could do. Picking Sammy up from his first school dance at age 14 and the never-ending story of how Heather whats-her-name actually kissed him -- on the lips! Proudly watching a high school graduation and then sadly witnessing yet another fight between his brother and father. Sam leaving for Stanford, painfully having to say goodbye and good luck, not with a hug but instead with a firm handshake and a pat on the shoulder, and secretly being so proud of his baby brother for his courage and his intelligence.

Then completely without any forewarning, the eerie quiet was broken with the thunderous reverberation of the familiar sound of Sam's handgun going off. Dean's entire body jerked and tightened in shock, eyes wide and mouth opened, as he took a sharp inhale and held it, frozen, unable to breathe out. Until the innate breathing reflex kicked in forcing him to exhale while at the same time an agonizing and guttural "nooooooooo!" echoed throughout the darkness. Numbness overcame his entire body accompanied by coldness and a knot in his stomach replacing the earlier sensation of a thousand butterflies. He felt sick as if he were going to throw up but the overwhelming despair made him unable to react, unable to move. He simply fell to his knees, his outstretched palms supporting his body weight forward, his entire body shivering uncontrollably. And at that moment the trees, the flowers, and the nightingales witnessed something that no one had ever seen before.

The floodgate of tears had been sprung open and for the first time this hunter, this man, this brother cried uncontrollably in excruciating, unbridled pain and emotion. More images began to flash. A stun-gun accident… a failing heart and imminent death… and Sam doing everything in his power to find a cure. "I'm not going to let you die, period." Then more flashes. "Dean, you're my brother and I'd die for you." …. "If you hurt my brother, I will

kill you all!" ... "Don't worry Sammy, as long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you." _Please just make it stop! _The few minutes of this agony seemed like hours until there were simply no more tears to produce. _I can't do this alone. --- Yes you can. --- Well I don't want to._ I don't want to echoed in his mind … _I … don't … want to…_

He pushed himself off his hands and sat back on his knees. With his right hand he reached towards the small of his back and pulled out his gun, its silver casing reflecting the glow of the moonlight. _Sam stop worrying. You know me. There's no way I'm going to shoot myself in the head, ok?_ Slowly, the gun is raised and pointed at his right temple. _Seriously Sam, it's not going to happen. I guarantee it_. The hand holding the gun is trembling. _Dean, you can't let my vision come true. I need to know that you're going to be all right._ And the index finger tenses as it gets ready to pull the trigger. "Dean, no." _Oh God, Sammy, I can still hear your voice. Your vision was right but how can I get through this. I've barely gotten over dad's death and now I'm supposed to bury you too? _"Dean." _I can't do this alone. You were all I had left and I couldn't even protect you. I'm so sorry._ He swallows hard, taking in deep breaths, getting ready to pull the trigger. "Dean! Stop!"

He feels a strong hand grab a hold of his, pulling the gun from his fingers. He spins around reflexively, practically lying on the ground with his upper torso propped up by his elbows.

A look of bewilderment overcomes his face as he stares at his brother's tall frame standing in front of him. _Not only am I hearing things, now I'm seeing things too??_

"Sammy…?!"

Sam extends an outstretched hand to help his brother to his feet but Dean is reluctant to accept the offer at first. He then reaches down and grabs Dean by his upper left arm, pulling him up to a standing position. At first Dean loses his balance, his legs almost unable to support his weight. Sam catches him and Dean just stares into Sam's face in utter amazement. _He's really alive?!_

"Sam, I heard the gun… I thought you were…." Unable to say the word and needing to confirm Sam's well-being, Dean cupped his hands around Sam's neck and pulled him closer, looking at him as though he was taking inventory. Every instinct yearned to pull him close and just hug him in an act of thorough relief. But the last time he gave Sam a full hug was when Sam was 12 and had just been released from the hospital after almost dying from pneumonia. Sam pulled away slightly, forcing Dean's arms to fall to his side.

"I'm all right."

"How… ?" But Sam was reluctant to answer, wanting to just forget the whole thing. He turned and walked the few feet to the steps of the house, and sat on the middle step. With his elbows propped up by his knees he buried his forehead into this palms. Dean followed, sitting to the left next to him. "What the hell happened in there?" A single tear formed and slowly made its way down Sam's left cheek.

"Sam?"

"It was the demon."

"You had a visit from a demon in there?"

"No, Dean! Not "_a_" demon….. "_the_" demon!

Dean's face took on a form of bewilderment and he was almost speechless, " _The_ demon?"

Sam lifted his face from his palms and nodded.

"What did it want?"

"To save me…"

"You gotta be kidding me!"

"I wish I was. It said that it wasn't time for me to die yet, at least not this way. Because if I did, I would be messing up his plans… for me and all the others like me." Dean listened in amazement, hardly believing what he was hearing. "The creature in the basement was starting to break through the door … he took my gun... shot it. Then he did something...

I felt strange… he said that ... I was cured. That was it... he just vanished."

Dean placed his right hand reassuringly on Sam's left shoulder. "It's ok."

A defeated Sam could hardly answer. "No Dean, it's not ok. Not after what it said to me!"

Dean stared into Sam's eyes and he spoke with a newfound determination. "I don't care, Sam! I don't care what the demon told you. And I don't care that it was that son-of-a-bitch that saved you. All I care about right now is that you're OK. Everything else, we can deal with."

Sam scoffed, "Can we?" He then hung his head, overwhelmed. "I just wish I knew why. Why is this happening to me... to our family?"

"I don't know… but we'll deal with it, OK?" It was moments like this that made Sam realize how fortunate he was to have Dean as his older brother. Despite the hardships they've been through, Dean never faltered. Sam could always count on his care, concern and support, on his empathy and kindness, his loyalty, and his rabid determination to protect him. He had so much responsibility placed on him from an early age, yet he never complained; he simply accepted it and made the best of it. Just as he was doing now. He had just been through an emotional hell but was now putting all that aside to offer encouragement, once again putting his own needs second, as he has done for so much of his life. And with that thought, a second tear began to roll down Sam's face.

"You know Dean, all my life all I ever wanted was to be normal. To grow up in a normal house, with my mom and dad, and my big brother, and just live a normal life."

"Nah... normal is boring and overrated. Besides we have way more fun!" Dean smirked at him. "C'mon, let's go get some sleep. Tomorrow we fix the car. We can be normal then."

And there it was, that snark and humor that served as Dean's survival mechanism.

Always taking the most serious situation and trying to make light of it. Dean stood up

and offered an outstretched hand to pull Sam up.

Sam simply stood on his own and waited a few seconds. "Thanks. For everything."

Dean flashed a _you're-welcome_ grin as they began walking towards the car, their path illuminated only by the light of the full moon. Reflexively they placed their arms around each other's shoulders, almost in celebration, as though they had just won the Super Bowl. Perhaps in a way they had.

John Winchester may not have been the perfect father but he taught his boys all he knew about the evils that existed in the world and about hunting them. He taught them to track, to shoot, to fight and to survive. He taught them to respect their family and he taught them the family business of saving people, hunting things. And along with everything that he taught them, he also left them with the greatest and most powerful gift of all… a gift so strong that it would be the one thing that would help these brothers defeat whatever threatened them in their lives: the gift of love. And that was something that no one or nothing could ever take away.


End file.
